"Looks like you're stuck out here, Cas," Dean said, turning to look at the angel. Instead he was looking at his brother and Castiel was nowhere in sight. "I hate it when he does that," he mumbled to himself, turning back to the door and pushing it open. The lights weren't functioning in the lobby and since both of his hands were full and his flashlight was in his duffel, he let Sam man the light. The circular room was dilapidated, wallpaper and paint peeling from the walls, overturned furniture and garbage strewn across the floor. Doors branched off in three directions.

Dean spun on his heel to face Sam once they made the circuit. "Door one, two or three?" he asked. There were a few other doors as well, but only three of them looked like they went anywhere that might take them to Herman.

"How 'bout the one straight across from the lobby?" suggested Sam, waving the flashlight in that direction.

Dean nodded and led the way around the circular structure in the middle of the room. The door across the room was standard, like the other two. Unfortunately it was solid wood, so they couldn't even peek through a window. No point in hesitating. Gripping his pipe in one hand and his gun in the other, he pushed down on the latch and swung the door open. The reveal was a bit more anticlimactic than he had come to expect and he was almost disappointed by the shelves full of boxes. Each box had a name scrawled on it in black marker along with a number.

"This must be where they store patient belongings," Sam said, trailing the light over the rows of dusty boxes.

"Cas said Herman stayed here for a while, yeah? Maybe some of his stuff is still here," said Dean, glancing over his shoulder at Sam.

"Look out!"

Dean turned back around just in time to see a monster lunge toward him. He stepped back and swung his pipe as hard as he could in the narrow space. He hit the thing, but it leapt at him, wrapping its legs around Dean's hips, its chest oozing noxious gases. Dean struggled with it, but its legs had an iron grip around him. He was coughing and choking on the cloud, but Sam managed to pull the thing off and swing his own pipe, crushing the thing's skull. The brothers exchanged a glance before turning around and giving the rest of the room a once-over. Once they were sure there were no more monsters breathing down their necks, they split up to look for Herman's box of belongings. Dean slid his pistol into his waistband and retrieved his flashlight from his duffel. He took the right side of the room and Sam took the left. It was mostly quiet as they made their way around the room, save for the occasional scratching or shuffling noise.

"Found it!" Sam called after a few minutes and Dean was more than happy to abandon his search of the dusty boxes. He weaved his way through the rows of shelves to where Sam had plucked a box off the very top and put it on a nearby table. He was careful not to disturb the thick layer of dust and grime as he removed the lid and set it aside. The contents were pretty typical; shoes, the clothes he came in with, a wallet and an assortment of coins. At the bottom of the box was a thick manila folder.

Dean set his pipe on the table and picked up the folder. He had to set his flashlight down as well so he could remove the contents. Sam shone his light on the papers as Dean shuffled through them. Nothing looked important, just a stack of letters and postcards, all written in the same loopy, scrawling handwriting. None of them were signed.

"Well, that was a bust," muttered Dean as he returned everything to the box and replaced the lid. He shrugged, picking his flashlight and pipe back up. "I guess we should continue with our tour." Dean headed back out into the lobby and looked to the left and right. He chose the left. Three doors were on this side of the room, all in the small outcropping off the main circular room. They tried all three doors, and of the three, two doors were locked and one had a destroyed handle. They crossed the circular room to the opposite side, their steps echoing through the empty space.

"That door wasn't open before, was it?" Sam asked from behind Dean, shining his flashlight into the door.

Dean didn't answer, just frowned and cautiously stepped inside. Before him was a short hallway with a corner and a door. This section was clear, but that didn't mean there wasn't something lurking around that corner. He felt naked without his gun as he walked down the hall, but he needed to save his ammo in case he ran into Pyramid Head again. Staying close to the wall, Dean gripped his pipe, ready to swing at anything he saw around the corner. Nothing was waiting to pounce on them as they headed toward the door, but there was another turn in the hall and one of the armless monsters was staggering toward them. Dean tried the door quickly, but it was locked, so he turned to the monster in the next section of the hall. It reared back, getting ready to spit its noxious gases and Sam as Dean both swung their pipes, careful of one another. One hit ripped a hole in the flesh of the monster's face and the other made a wet cracking sound as it broke some of the bones in its torso. A third hit caught the armless creature's neck, snapping more bones. It was still twitching as it fell to the ground, black liquid pooling underneath its body.

"God, I wish we had more ammo," grumbled Dean, stepping over the body.

Sam nodded his agreement, nose wrinkling in disgust at the substance dripping from the end of his pipe and splattered across part of his shirt.

"Check those two doors, I'll get this one," said Dean, bringing Sam's attention back to what they were doing.

Sam went to two side by side doors which had been labeled at one point, but all the lettering had worn away. He turned the knob, pulling the first door open. Boxes, brooms, mops and miscellaneous items. Storage. A quick check behind the second door revealed more of the same. "All I've got is storage. What did you find?" he asked, looking up at his brother at the end of the hall.

"A locked door," he grumped, walking back to Sam. "And if this one is locked, I'm gonna be pissed."

Sam smirked as they approached the door across the hall from the storage rooms. He reached out and turned the knob. It was unlocked, but on the other side there were two armless monsters wandering the hall between them, a door and an offshoot on either side of the hall. The boys split up, Sam going after the closest one, Dean taking on the one at the end of the hall. Slick, wet thumps filled the air, along with the occasional crunch of a bone giving way. Once the monsters were dead, the brothers turned to face each other.

"Where would Herman be hiding? Left, right or center?" Dean asked, spinning in a slow circle to look at each door. Two of them had been labeled at one time, but like the storage rooms, the lettering had been worn away.

Sam went down one of the offshoots and peered at the faded lettering. He could vaguely make out what he thought was a W and perhaps an R. He crossed to the other side and read out an S and a K on one line and an R on the bottom line. "I think this is a sick ward, and honestly, from what I've seen of this town, even if Herman is in there, I'd rather wait him out then go inside."

Dean nodded. He had to agree with his brother on that. This town was one big fatal disease waiting to happen. "Check the door anyway, just in case."

Sam grimaced and you could see by the expression he wore that he wished he had a gallon of Purell with him. The knob turned and his expression got even sourer as he pushed the door open. More doors lined each side of the hall and a foul, stale odor lingered in the air. The boys wrinkled their noses as they started checking doors. Just like everywhere else they had been in the sanitarium so far, the walls were covered in peeling yellow-green paint and the floors were really ugly cracked and broken white and green tile. The colors were typical institutional colors, but the state of disrepair and lack of lighting provided most of the creepy quality of the place. Two of the doors in the hall were wood, but the rest were heavy steel. Of the eleven doors in the hall, only two opened for them. One was a patient room that held a bed, sink, toilet and an IV stand with an empty bag hanging from the hook. The other appeared to be a nurses' office as it held various medical equipment, lockers, a couple of desks, a couch and a fridge. They did a quick toss of the office and besides a few rolls of gauze and some disinfectant which they shoved into their bags, they found absolutely nothing.

Finished with the Sick Ward, they went across the hall and found that that door opened as well. Just like the Sick Ward, doors lined both sides of the hall here as well. Each of the doors had mesh-lined windows in them so the staff could easily look in on residents. Dean took a look in the closest one and saw one of the armless monsters twitching away in the center of the room.

"Okay, not going in there," he mumbled, moving onto the next one as Sam checked the opposite side of the hall. One door sat ajar, so Dean nudged it open with the toe of his boot. It was a standard room with a bed, sink, toilet and dresser. With caution, he entered the room. The first thing he noticed was the piece of paper on the bed. His curiosity got the better of him, so he picked it up and scanned the text neatly printed on the sheet.

—despite his usually calm, withdrawn nature, Patient

06924311, Herman—is often prone to violent outbursts.

After each episode and almost a week in seclusion, he never

recalls his actions.—death of daughter was cause

for admittance.—

—recommend therapies such as—

Dean frowned at the report. Great, the guy they were looking for was prone to violence. He was kind of curious what sort of therapies they thought would calm him down, but it was probably nothing short of a sadistic nightmare.

"Find something?" Sam asked, standing in the doorway of the tiny, ugly room.

"Just this report," he answered, handing it to Sam. He waited while Sam read, watching his expression.

"Shouldn't he have been somewhere a little more secure if he was this bad?" Sam asked looking up from the paper.

Dean shrugged. "Probably, not that it matters. Good to know that he's violent, though. At least we have something to expect."

Nodding, Sam stepped out of the way as Dean moved back into the hall. "True enough. I didn't find anything other than more peeling paint and ugly tile, though. I never got to the door at the very end of the hall."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Princess?" teased Dean as he opened the aforementioned door. The hall was empty and once again there were more doors waiting to be checked. Once again Dean took one side of the hall and Sam took the other. The first room on Dean's side was empty, the second was locked with a monster inside, as was the third. The fourth was open and filled with the first signs of human inhabitants Dean had seen; pictures, clothes and books. Nothing interesting. That just left the fifth and final door on his side. It was open as well and another sheet of paper was on the bare mattress. He went inside and grabbed the paper.

—Herman completely withdrew from—

—daughter Jae Fairwain's death—

unknown to other family members and Sharalynn

Stevenson, mother of Herman—

—.

Dean's fingers tightened around the paper, crumpling it in his hand. Was it true? Was Jae Herman's daughter? He remembered her saying she wasn't close with her father, but he couldn't remember her mentioning his name. Or was this a different woman all together? The coincidence was too much. There was no way this could be true, though. It didn't make sense to him. There was no way Herman could know Dean was involved in Jae's death.

Dean was still staring down at the report when the door slammed shut behind him.

"Hey!" Two strides took him to the door and he stopped dead. Painted in blood red paint—or just blood—was another one of those circles. The Halo of the Sun.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, rattling the door knob. It was locked.

Dean tossed his duffel on the bed and tore open the zipper, searching for his lock picks. By the time he remembered he had lost them along the way, the sirens started to wail. Outside the room, Sam looked pained as the walls started to change. His hazel eyes grew wide as he took a step back and looked up. And if Dean had blinked, he would have missed what came next; two arms came down from above the door, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and yanked him upward, his legs flailing. Sam disappeared and the sirens echoed inside his head.

"Sam!" yelled Dean, his vision blurring as he watched everything rot and decay. His surroundings shifted to the Otherworld again and Dean was locked up, unable to help Sam. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a grinning face in the small, mesh-lined window.

Castiel stared up at the walls of the hospital as they degraded before his eyes. Sirens originating from unknown sources echoed in the air. He was useless here as well, it seemed. Despite the fading paint and rotting wood, rust and growing flesh, the Enochian symbols were still visible and in effect. He had no idea how these humans had learned the symbols, but they were up on every building the Order conducted their practices in. It was bad enough that his powers were being steadily drained by the symbol of the Order's faith, but he couldn't even help the Winchesters with the small amount of power he had left. He couldn't repair the Seals. He couldn't stop Sharalynn or Herman. He was useless here. All he could do was watch.

Sam woke up abruptly, his throat and mouth thick with a heavy metallic taste. The last thing he remembered was the sirens and Dean locked in that room.

"Dean?" he called out, his voice loud in his ears. There was no reply. He couldn't even look around the room because it was pitch black. The floor beneath him was cushioned and he put his hand out to the side, feeling rough cloth under his fingertips. He pushed himself to his feet, arms out. Wherever he was, it wasn't very big. He could touch two of the walls just with his arms spread. He felt around in the dark, finding a cold steel door with no handle to speak of. He frowned in the darkness. Turning away from the useless door, Sam continued to feel out the space he was trapped in. One wall was about eight feet long and bare. The back wall was six feet across and bare as well. The second side wall had a cot pressed against it, the metal frame rough and rusted. Where the mattress should have been it was nothing but sharp metal springs. He felt around on the floor once he had a vague idea of the layout. Underneath the metal cot frame was something small and cylindrical. Sam was wary, but he grabbed it up anyway and turned it over in his hands. It was cool against his skin and had a bit of weight to it. There was a small button on one end, which he pushed and promptly blinded himself. A flashlight.

Blinking away spots, he turned the light away from himself and took a look at the room. He nearly gagged when he saw what he had been touching with his bare hands. The fabric and cushioned walls that had once been off-white in color were now stained with years' worth of blood and splatter, as was the floor. The rusted metal cot looked lethal if you even glanced at it the wrong way. Sam wiped his hands uselessly on his pant legs and wrinkled his nose in a grimace. He turned back toward the door which was covered in rust as well as a few throbbing vein-like additions to the steel. A small rectangle was inset at eye-level in the door, but there was no way for him to open it or the door from the inside.

"Dean!" he tried calling again, banging on the door for good measure. He listened very carefully, but there were no sounds on the other side of the door. Sam's arms fell to his sides and he turned off his light to save the battery. He was stuck in a potentially disease ridden six by eight cell with nothing but a rusted out cot frame and a flashlight. Everything else was gone; his guns, his ammo, even the steel pipe. Whoever locked him in here had taken his duffel.

Banging on the door again was the best hope he had of being heard and getting out. He just hoped Dean was having better luck.

Dean was pretty certain his luck couldn't get much crappier. The latch on the door was destroyed and he had nothing to help him get out. He had passed out again and when he woke up everything but the clothes on his back and a flashlight was gone, including the Angelic Blade. He had woken up on a cot that was a on a creaky frame and smelled like death. He found out why that was once he got up and turned the flashlight on it. The old, threadbare mattress had been completely saturated in blood at one point, the fabric turned brown from the dry stains. The floor looked like someone had dumped a bucket of red paint on it. The walls had gone fleshy and greasy, and a couple of places seemed to thrum with a heartbeat. He wanted to say he had seen and smelled worse, but honestly, he hadn't.

He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell, but he could taste the metallic odor on the stale, dead air. The acrid stench of various other things floated on the air as well and even his own smell was wafting from the stains in the pits of his tee-shirt. He'd be surprised if he could smell anything at all after they got out of here.

Dean pounded on the door, yelling and putting pressure on the broken latch. He rattled the door and stood back, giving it a hard kick simply out of frustration. The latch cracked off and clattered to the floor.

"Sonuvabitch!" he cursed, punching the fleshy wall, feeling it give under his fist. Something split and squirted him in the face with a rancid-smelling viscous yellow substance. As it dripped down the wall and off his nose and chin, Dean growled in his throat. He lifted his arm and wiped his face clean with the sleeve of his jacket.

"A good rule to live by in Silent Hill is don't hit anything if you don't want it to bite you back," said a plain male voice as the little viewing window slid open.

"Open the door," Dean snarled, not particularly caring who he was talking to.

The man laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. The eyes were all Dean could see and they looked tired. "Now why would I do that, Dean?"

Dean walked right up to the door so that he was looking directly into the tired eyes. They were dark brown and bloodshot, a hint of intensity and insanity lurking in their depths. Dean knew that look well. "Who the hell are you?" he questioned.

"Really, Dean. I'd be a touch more polite if I were in your shoes. You're talking to a man who has every reason to kill you here and now." The genial tone quickly grew dark and dangerous.

"Herman," Dean stated with a growl, realization dawning on him.

"At your service."

"How do you know my name?" Dean narrowed his eyes, his own tone matching the danger level in Herman's voice.

Herman stepped away from the door and the little pool of light that illuminated him. When he spoke again his voice came from somewhere off to the left. "Your name has been mentioned to me a few times to tell you the truth. Jae mentioned you in one of her letters, but I never thought much of that. It was while I was in Hell that I actually learned about you and your brother. That was in between victims, of course. I was told all about Sam and your stint in Hell and the Apocalypse. Sounded like you really enjoyed yourself in the pits, Dean. I would admire you for that if you hadn't killed my daughter."

"I didn't kill her!" shouted Dean, pounding his fist on the door.

"She told me otherwise, Dean-o."

Dean was silent. He hadn't killed her. She died on the job. It was inevitable in their line of work. But why hadn't he prevented it?

"That's right. She's had years to develop a grudge, Dean. Actually, it was her idea that you were one of our sacrifices. Usually it's kind of random who ends up in town, but you guys were handpicked. We figured we'd forgo all the Michael and Lucifer crap and go straight for Paradise. In fact, your brother should be preparing for that right now." Herman stepped back into the light and grinned.

"What have you done with Sam?"

"You'll see. Just sit tight and enjoy my former room while I go see how everything is progressing. Oh, and I figured you might want some company as well." With that said, Herman disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the cell that smelled like death. Off in the distance he could hear metal scraping on metal and his blood ran cold.